Authors: Anita Hughes
Rome in Love (25 page)
“How do you know?” Max asked.
“We were talking about our pasts,” Philip mused. “Suddenly her cheeks turned pale and she started to say something.”
“You can’t let her do that,” Max insisted. “You have to ask her to marry you first.”
“Adam upped the offer to twenty thousand dollars,” Philip murmured.
“Twenty thousand dollars for her to say yes?” Max spluttered.
“An investor is interested in the newspaper.” Philip nodded. “But how am I going to propose before she tells me the truth?”
“Tell her you have a deadline and don’t have time to see her.” Max paced around the room. “In the meantime you have to think of the perfect way to propose. You could make reservations at Imago and hire a violinist and a cellist. Or take a picnic to the Villa Borghese and have an airplane spell out ‘Will you marry me?’”
“After tonight’s dinner I can barely afford two slices of chocolate torte at Giolitti and a ring from a Cracker Jack box,” Philip groaned.
“I forgot about the ring!” Max put his shot glass on the counter. “You need at least two carats, preferably surrounded by sapphires.”
“How can I afford a ring like that?” Philip laughed.
“Convince Signora Griselda to hide my car.” Max opened the door. “And I’ll get a ring that would make the Duchess of Cambridge marry you.”
“She’s married to Prince William.” Philip frowned.
“The right diamond can make a woman do anything.”
* * *
Philip stood on the balcony, sipping his glass of scotch. He pictured Amelia’s green chiffon dress and gold sandals. He saw the way she shrugged her shoulders and raised her eyebrows. He remembered the warmth of his mouth on her lips.
He walked inside and put the glass in the sink. He opened the fridge and took out a tomato and a head of lettuce. He spread mustard on whole wheat bread and added bacon and red onions. He placed the sandwich on a plate and realized he wasn’t hungry.
Amelia slipped on a white cotton robe and pink slippers. She sat on the four-poster bed and glanced at the yellow silk curtains. It was lovely to lie against the floral pillows and gaze at the Roman Forum and the Colosseum. It was lovely to sip a cup of English breakfast tea with milk and honey.
She remembered sitting across from Philip at Rosati’s, eating pancetta and fresh bread. She remembered opening her mouth to tell him the truth and shivered. Tomorrow she’d go to the Campo de Fiori and buy prosciutto and ricotta cheese and baguettes. They’d take a picnic to Pinico Hill and she’d tell him everything.
She put her porcelain cup on the bedside table and glanced at Audrey Hepburn’s letters. She picked up the top page and began to read.
September 20, 1952
Dear Kitty,
We are almost finished shooting and it reminds me of the last days of school. You can’t wait for summer but at the same time you know you’ll miss the friendships and the gossip and the boys passing notes.
Everyone has been in a good mood; even Mr. Wyler has been making jokes. He said if I could act like this in the beginning, we would have wrapped weeks ago. I’m not afraid of the lights or the cameras; I’m like a rose that finally bloomed.
This evening I approached the Hassler and saw a crowd of journalists on the stone steps. I thought they were waiting for someone famous like Humphrey Bogart or Katharine Hepburn. I entered the glass revolving doors and suddenly the camera bulbs flashed.
“Miss Hepburn, how do you feel about the rumor that you and Gregory Peck are having a romance?” a man in a gray suit asked.
“Is it true you plan on running away together after
Roman Holiday
wraps?” a woman in a black fitted dress demanded. “Where is your secret hideaway?”
Oh, Kitty, I was so shocked I thought I would faint! I remembered Gil telling me how important it is to be nice to journalists. I smoothed my skirt and gave them my widest smile.
“It seems you know more about our plans than I do,” I replied. “Perhaps you can tell me where we’re going.”
“The odds are on Las Vegas.” The woman glanced at her notes.
“Las Vegas!” I exclaimed. “Why would anyone go there? It’s over a hundred degrees in the summer.”
“So Gregory Peck can get a quick divorce and you can get married,” piped in a reporter with dark hair and glasses.
“I’m afraid someone has given you the wrong information.” I waved my hand. “I met Gregory Peck’s wife and she is stunning. Mr. Peck plans to spend the rest of his summer camping with his family in Yosemite.”
“It’s right here.” The female reporter unfolded a copy of
La Repubblica.
“Let me see that,” I said, glancing at a photo of Greg and me sharing a gelato in the Piazza di Spagna.
“You don’t need my copy.” She shrugged. “It’s on every newsstand in Rome.”
I took the elevator to the Villa Medici Suite and closed the door. I picked up the phone to call the concierge but put it down. If I asked to speak to Greg every reporter in Rome would know I dialed his number.
I started reading the article but my stomach turned. How could the paper print such lies! Greg and I never talked about anything more than having a drink at Harry’s Bar, and that’s always with Veronique and Mel Ferrer.
I thought of Veronique and my shoulders relaxed. She would get to the bottom of this. I picked up the phone and asked to be connected to the operator.
“I need to speak to Veronique Passani,” I said.
“We don’t have a guest by that name,” the operator replied.
“She must be staying at some hotel in Rome,” I insisted. “She’s a reporter for
Paris Soir.
”
“There are dozens of hotels in Rome.” The operator hesitated.
“Please, it’s terribly important,” I urged. “Tell her Audrey Hepburn must talk to her.”
I paced around the living room waiting for the phone to ring.
“What’s wrong?” Veronique’s French accent came down the line. “I’m at the salon getting my nails done.”
“Are you in Rome?” I clutched the phone.
“I just arrived, I’ve been in Paris,” Veronique replied.
“I need to see you right away,” I declared.
“I can hardly walk out with wet nails, Franco would be furious,” Veronique snapped. “Have a glass of amaretto and relax, I’ll be there as soon as the lacquer dries.”
I remembered what Veronique said about journalists writing the truth and wondered if there was anything behind the story. Greg has been so kind since I ended my engagement but I would never dream of breaking up his marriage. And even if I did, he never tried to kiss me. Oh, Kitty, my thoughts keep turning like the carousel in the Bois de Boulogne. I can’t wait for Veronique to get here!
Audrey
September 21, 1952
Dear Kitty,
Veronique arrived wearing a dark green Dior dress and beige pumps. Her auburn hair fell to her shoulders and she carried a lizard clutch.
“I can’t believe they wrote we’re running away together.” I showed her the newspaper. “I’m too embarrassed to show my face.”
“Of course you’re not running away.” She folded the newspaper and placed it on the glass coffee table. She tapped a cigarette from her gold cigarette case and lit it with a pearl lighter. “We are.”
“What did you say?” I spluttered.
“Gregory and I fell in love last winter when I interviewed him for
Paris Soir.
” Veronique stood at the window. “It was his suggestion I spend time on the set and interview the other actors.”
“But you said he was happily married!” I protested. “He loves his wife and he’s crazy about his children.”
“It’s been a marriage in name only for years.” Veronique exhaled a thin line of smoke. “Greta won’t mind as long as she keeps her name and the mansion in Beverly Hills. But the boys adore their father, what chance would our relationship have if I was the woman who broke up their parents’ marriage?”
“What are you saying?” I gasped.
“If the newspapers reported that Gregory Peck ran away with Veronique Passani, his children would never forgive me. But if Gregory had a romance with Audrey Hepburn that didn’t work out, they would accept the woman who helped him recover.”
“You wrote the article?” My eyes were wide.
“On-set romances happen all the time.” Veronique shrugged. “This one went a little too far. When Audrey Hepburn returns to New York to play
Gigi
on Broadway, Veronique Passani will help Gregory Peck mend his broken heart.”
“Does Greg know?” I asked.
“Of course not.” Veronique laughed. “He’s American, he isn’t capable of subterfuge. It’s a wonder the Americans helped us win the war, they would never have been able to fight in the resistance.”
“But you said you’d never give up your typewriter to get married.” I frowned, trying to stop my hands from shaking.
“The French know the most important thing in life is love.” Veronique stubbed out her cigarette.
“Did you ask Greg to pay attention to me?” I demanded, flashing on the picnic and the horse and buggy ride.
“Don’t be silly, Gregory admires you.” Veronique shrugged. “You should be pleased, it doesn’t hurt to have your name linked to one of the most sought-after actors in the world.”
“I think it’s terrible,” I snapped. “What will his children say when he doesn’t come home?”
“You’re going to be a famous actress with designers begging to dress you and men falling at your feet,” Veronique mused. “Some of us need to grab happiness in case it doesn’t return.”
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to be alone.” I stood up.
“I promise I will make his children happy,” Veronique said softly. “Gregory is a wonderful father, he loves them very much.”
Oh, Kitty, after Veronique left I threw myself on the bed. I pictured James in his Gieves & Hawkes suits and thought Veronique was right. I am lucky to be an actress and I’ve always had good fortune with men.
I dried my eyes and fixed my lipstick. I slipped on a white Chanel dress and ivory pumps. I put on silk gloves and pressed the button on the elevator.
“Miss Hepburn, do you have a comment about your love affair with Gregory Peck?” a reporter asked when the doors opened.
I looked at the reporter and took a deep breath.
“Have you ever been on a movie set? It’s impossible not to fall in love.” I sighed. “You fall in love with the fabulous location and the wonderful script and the glamorous clothes. I will always love Gregory Peck and William Wyler and everyone who made
Roman Holiday
possible. But the only thing I’m in love with right now is being an actress.”
“Are you saying the reports that you’re going to run away together are false?” the reporter persisted.
“I’m saying nothing on a movie set is real.” I strode through the lobby and pushed through the gold revolving doors. “That’s what makes it so utterly wonderful.”
The reporters finally disappeared and I went to Sant’Eustachio and had iced coffee and a profiterole. I’m tired of eating plain pasta and sautéed vegetables, I craved sugar and cream.
I watched couples stroll along the Piazza Eustachio and remembered Greg talking about love. I was silly to imagine he was thinking of me when he just needed someone to talk to.
But, Kitty, I lied to the reporter when I said I’m only interested in being an actress. I want a man to talk to and laugh with and share chocolate torte!
Audrey
September 24, 1952
Dear Kitty,
Today we filmed the final scene where I meet the press in the royal palace and see Joe for the last time. I was so nervous; I hadn’t seen Greg since
La Repubblica
printed the article. I sat in my dressing room waiting for Marie to bring in my gown.
Do you remember when we went to Convent Garden to see Margot Fonteyn in
Sleeping Beauty
? We couldn’t keep our eyes off her; she was the most beautiful thing we’d ever seen. That’s how I felt when I slipped on the Balenciaga gown. It’s pink satin with delicate pearl buttons. Marie fastened the Harry Winston diamond tiara on my head and said I mustn’t let it fall. Harry Winston lent it to Mr. Wyler and it cost thousands of dollars!
I stepped onto the set and saw Veronique Passani sitting in a chair. She wore a navy Chanel suit with a leather belt. Her hair was knotted in a low bun and she wore dark red lipstick.
I tried to avoid her but she approached me.
“I wanted you to see this before I give it to my editor.” She handed me a sheet of paper. “It’s my interview with you for
Paris Soir
.”
I scanned the first paragraph and then read it out loud.
“Hollywood announces a new Myrna Loy or Katharine Hepburn is born every minute, but it is almost always studio hype. A real talent has emerged in Audrey Hepburn, the star of Paramount’s
Roman Holiday
.
“I spent a month observing Miss Hepburn and the slight, elegant girl is transformed on the screen. Her eyes are like saucers and her smile could light up Paris. I predict an illustrious career for the effervescent young star.”
I put the paper down and looked at Veronique.
“You didn’t have to write that,” I murmured.